It is so easy to be negative when we’re struggling. The list of things we don’t have and can’t do seems so much longer and more detailed than the very short list of things we do have and can do. My parents didn’t have much when I was growing up, and I still had a wonderful childhood. My mom felt inadequate at times, and yet I remember so clearly being in third grade, trying to draw a picture of her in art class and just sitting there, staring at the blank paper because I didn’t know how to draw her as magnificently as I saw her.
The most valuable thing we have to offer our kids isn’t stuff; it’s our love. I had to choose to stop focusing on the long list of things I didn’t have and couldn’t do, and instead focus on the things I did have and could do, no matter how small.
I spent one afternoon drawing and then cutting out big letters from colorful paper to create a banner for our bedroom that spelled out my kids’ names. It was nowhere near the level of Pottery Barn decor, but my kids loved seeing large, colorful “Luka” and “Matea” on the wall, especially since those names aren’t common in the United States. I started making picnics for my kids. I’d serve the same food we’d normally eat but add a twist to make our meals more interesting and fun for them. I’d cut peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into four or five odd shapes to create sandwich puzzles my kids would have to figure out how to put together, then pack our little lunch, grab a blanket, and walk my kids to the park. Those picnics created some of our best memories.
When Luka was almost four, he made it very clear that someday he wanted to be a mailman. Every time we would pass a mail truck, he would stare at it and say, “Ugh, I can’t wait to grow up, just so I can finally be a mailman!” I was at the dollar store buying some snacks for his birthday party and worrying that our meager affair wouldn’t compare to the other birthday parties he’d attended when I noticed a box of envelopes. An entire box for just a dollar. Inspired, I purchased two boxes.
My friend Jo had flown in all the way from the East Coast to spend some time with me. She had left her two young kids with her husband to spend five burning-hot August days in an apartment with no AC, sleeping on a mattress with the infant daughter she’d brought along, just to be there for me. The night before Luka’s party, Jo and I stayed up late drawing stamps on each envelope and addressing them with funny street names. We strung the envelopes across the ceiling of my living room, and when Luka saw them the next morning, he was in awe.
A few days before the party, I stopped my mailman and asked him if he could possibly make an appearance at the party. I had even scheduled the party to coincide with the time when I knew he’d be out on his route and near our street. About an hour into the birthday party, there was a knock at the door. When Luka opened it and saw the mailman, he couldn’t have been more excited. Our mailman not only showed up, he brought gifts from the post office—special envelopes and boxes my son could play with, an album for stamp collecting, and even a cool hat! I didn’t have money to hire entertainment, but Luka appreciated the kind mailman’s short visit more than he would have appreciated a clown or a magician. Focusing on my short list had come through for me again. It had also forced me to get creative and build my community in ways I wouldn’t have if just throwing money at the party had been an option.
Parenting is insane. Even without any added financial burdens or depression, parenting is a circus. It’s every extreme emotion all bottled up, shaken together like a strong cocktail, and then chugged by our brain cells. Parenthood is happy and sad, fulfilling and draining. It makes us feel like a superhero one second and a total failure the next. Parenting is complicated. Very, very complicated.
Choosing to embrace what is has saved me from feeling like I’m losing in life. I have to choose to embrace the unexpected and messy, to arm myself with a great sense of humor and a “good enough” attitude. When I don’t have the perfect solution to a parenting dilemma, I have come to accept that winging it is an underrated but very respectable approach (to child rearing and piano playing and a whole load of other things). Winging it has always topped the short list of things I actually can do.
The fantasy I created for my life was always going to set me up for failure, even if I hadn’t gotten divorced or struggled financially or emotionally. A fantasy is by its very nature unrealistic. When we create unrealistic expectations and fail to meet them, we feel guilty and inadequate. We’re self-abusive freaks who need to lower our standards. When we take a moment to realize that perfection is an illusion, and we make space to accept our flawed, imperfect lives, we will find just how much power we actually have to make life wonderful. The best you can do almost always ends up being more than enough.
When I hit my lowest point, I thought I had to wait for this or that to happen before I could be happy. I was passively hoping someone would show up to give me tools and solutions, when all I needed to do was to start using the tools I already had. I falsely believed that if my circumstances would just change, my attitude toward everything would change, too. But it actually works the other way around. I had to stop pining for what I had imagined and make the best of what already existed. I had to stop chasing the fairy tale and start embracing the adventure.
I was standing in the way of my own happiness. The picnics, the mailman birthday party, my child’s wider-than-a-jack-o’-lantern grin on Halloween . . . there were so many incredible moments of joy I would have missed out on, and, more importantly, my kids would have missed out on, if I had kept waiting for everything to be just as I once pictured it before I decided to fully live.
At that Croatian wedding years ago, it didn’t matter that the bride and groom didn’t have the dream wedding cake they had ordered or the perfect flower arrangements they’d envisioned. What mattered was that they showed up. They showed up, surrounded themselves with loved ones, and celebrated. And it didn’t matter if my piano playing included some accidental notes. What mattered was that I showed up for people I cared about and embraced the joy that was right in front of me.
If we don’t show up and embrace what is, regardless of how many unexpected bombs are thrown our way, we’ll spend the rest of our lives waiting for something we’ll never reach, when what is within reach is so, so wonderful. Imperfect and messy and chaotic, but wonderful.
Nine
Ne brini. Divno je.
My baka (Croatian for “grandma”) and I were always close. From a very young age, I felt like she understood me. My hyper, animated personality could be too much for some adults. Not for her. I spent a lot of my childhood at her house in Serbia. I loved visiting her so much that every time I had to leave, I’d hold on to her, kissing her face, my eyes full of tears, thanking her for everything. She’d take my little hands into hers and say, “Don’t cry. I’ll see you again.”
To get to my baka’s house, we passed through a red metal gate and were then greeted by the perfume of the roses in her garden and the bright, sweet scent of strawberries and the sight of a gorgeous apricot tree.